


Translations

by herbailiwick



Series: The Knight and the Magician [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yakkorat prompted Greg rescuing Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yakkorat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yakkorat/gifts).



Mycroft closes his eyes and hunches, trying to lessen the impact as much as possible. They’ve infuriated a rather unstable man, apparently, despite that not being Mycroft’s intention. He can’t say the same of his colleague, who did most of the infuriating, but they’re both paying for it. Part of the job, Mycroft thinks as he groans. 

Half of his job this time round had been as interpreter. Officially, at least. The man is large and rather brutal. Mycroft knows his history, or enough about it to feel both comfortably informed and reasonably resigned to a bit of a beating, anyway.

Brolly is across the room and he’s calculating his odds rather than struggling, mind running over the options. He needs to formulate the proper threat to growl out, if he can keep his voice strong enough. His jacket is being ripped off of him, and he tries to help the large man get it off of him. He doesn’t want it ruined. With the jacket goes a few options, but this man is not a killer, just highly unstable.

The door flies open with a bang. “STEP AWAY. NOW.” 

Mycroft recognizes the voice, stumblingly lifting his face, trying to sit up a bit as the large man moves away. “Greg,” he says, pleased. He already feels quite relaxed. There’s been a blow across the side of his face. His cheek will bruise up quite nicely, he’s sure.

Greg looks rather handsome with a gun in his hand. It’s a fact Mycroft has only known objectively before now. Now, he sees the sight with added sentiment, and it takes his breath away. Greg is his hero, his knight in shining armor. His detective inspector. He swallows hard.

“You, sir,” Greg says to the dignitary who is looking quite undignified, “are under arrest.” He puts the cuffs on, and Mycroft is watching him, utterly fascinated. Greg notices, boldly offering a smirk of satisfaction.

“How ever did you find us?” Mycroft asks carefully.

“I came by to leave your lunch with Anthea. You forgot it.”

Greg asks, “Hey, you. Can you get up?” Mycroft’s colleague pushes to his feet a bit shakily.

“He had it worse,” he says, embarrassed. “It was my fault, I—”

“Are you authorized?” Greg asks, offering the man his gun. “You know what? Don’t tell me,” he says quickly. “Just stand guard for a bit, yeah? Doesn’t look like he’ll do anything, but it’s standard.” Mycroft makes a noise of disagreement. “Alright, well, it’s effective. Going to be, anyway.”

Greg takes a step toward Mycroft. Mycroft instantly reaches up to Greg, so their hands can connect, but he winces and remains where he is. “I need to not stretch very much,” he says. Pain curls onto the planes of his face, though his eyes look properly amused with the twist in the situation.

Greg moves over toward Brolly, grabbing him, offering him to Mycroft. Mycroft grips Brolly, relaxing, sighing. 

“One moment,” Greg says to Mycroft, getting down on his knees to make the call. He rests his hand on the small of Mycroft’s back. Mycroft ignores the fact his jacket is still off and leans heavily against Greg as he talks into the mobile phone. As Greg pays attention to the conversation on the phone, Mycroft murmurs praises in a foreign tongue, sweet nothings in the language he’d been meant to interpret for the large, handcuffed man.

“That sounded nice,” Greg comments as they wait for someone to come and check Mycroft out. 

“Mm,” says Mycroft noncommittally. He closes his eyes and shivers slightly when Greg’s hand comes up to stroke his hair. 

“What happened?”

“I’ll give you a most thorough report later,” Mycroft murmurs, eyes still closed. “I rather like your aftershave.” He breathes deeply.

***

He’s being patched up, and Greg is there, which is the only important thing about the situation. He knows Greg is heeding the medical suggestions, so he focuses on the intensity in Greg’s eyes, in his stance, in the way his body screams out the things Mycroft murmured against his shoulder. It’s just another language.


End file.
